


What would you give (to have him here?)

by TheMalapert



Series: Witcher Folk Tales [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Eskel’s been off at war, Fluff, Folk Tales, Insecure Eskel, Lonely Jaskier, M/M, Returning Home, Tooth Rotting Fluff, mentioned Geralt/Yennefer - Freeform, ungodly amounts of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26842450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMalapert/pseuds/TheMalapert
Summary: Eskel has been at war for more years than he’d care to admit. Finally coming home to his eccentric husband, Jaskier, Eskel worries such a beautiful man won’t want a weary, scarred soldier.Based on the Spanish folk tale of Lady Clare.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Folk Tales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075793
Comments: 13
Kudos: 187





	What would you give (to have him here?)

How many years had it been since Eskel had seen his husband? Too many years, but more than that, it was too many springs when the buttercups mocked him, too many evenings with only his hand for company, too many times joining Geralt and Lambert to drink away their sorrows. War had taken all those things from them, but it would take no more. Eskel gave his brothers bone-crushing hugs, and Lambert slunk off to find where his love had been stationed, where they could meet in the middle. Geralt stayed longer, their paths the same until a well-kept road branched off to a dark manor. Geralt smiled once more at his brother in arms and raced up the road, his wife and child—though not such a child anymore—waiting. 

Eskel allowed his horse to continue at a sedate pace. He could have followed suit, galloping the scant few miles left to a cottage stuffed in the woods. To a garden of valiant effort but little product. To strangely expensive silks and furs under a thatched roof that leaked more often than not during a storm. To a man, a beautiful man, who could sing and make the flowers grow. 

He expected some change. The years hadn’t been kind to Eskel, so he likewise knew that his home, his love, might be a little different. Geralt was happy to allow his brother and best friend to build their house on his lands—well, technically Yennefer’s lands. Nobody asked who she got it from, and those who did regretted it. It was a grand relief to have Jaskier nearby when the Witchers went to war; Yennefer, no matter how they bickered, couldn’t maintain her business and her motherhood alone, and Ciri wouldn’t want for a male presence. When they began building, Jaskier had said he didn’t need something so grand and large as Yennefer’s manor. He preferred finer, if smaller, things, and Eskel had a trunk of spoils being delivered with Geralt’s things the next week. He couldn’t wait to wrap his husband in the finest Cintran silks or dress him in nothing but jewels. 

For now, he travelled light, all of the soldiers eager to get home to their families. Eskel just wasn’t sure if what laid at the end of the path would want  _ him.  _ He’d always known Jaskier to be a prolific lover, hadn’t expected his husband to remain chaste while he was away. Eskel’s body hadn’t been this disfigured when they first met. His voice too had turned gravelly with shouting and smoke inhalation. He used to be able to hum along with his bard’s music, but he highly doubted he could keep up now. Jaskier was a perfect masculine specimen, and by contrast, Eskel could hardly look at his own twisted, scarred flesh. Especially his face. He didn’t know if he would survive Jaskier’s disappointment at having an undeniably hideous husband. Eskel slowed his horse into barely a walk. All those years at war, and it would be Jaskier’s disgust that would kill him. 

Eskel pulled out his helmet and donned it, flipping down the visor. Better safe than sorry. Geralt would always have a room for him, he supposed, but he’d lived in a tent, in the wilderness, these past years. What was a little more?

He heard Jaskier before he saw him. It squeezed the very life out of Eskel, and his hands tightened on the reigns, ready to surge forward. But he couldn’t. A hard knot wedged at the back of his throat, and he continued on his lazy path until he could spy the little cottage. His  _ home _ . 

Jaskier sang quietly, “ _ The wolf to his pack, and the bear to his den. I ask my love, will I see you before autumn’s end? _ ”

He’d gotten much better at gardening. Jaskier was on his knees in rich, black dirt, pulling weeds like they’d offended his mother. Eskel saw a bed of wilting sunflowers and stakes for tomatoes. Jaskier had tilled the earth for planting the winter vegetables, no matter how much he hated squash. 

“ _ When winter comes and sunlight has fled. Will my love return? Is my love dead?”  _ Jaskier suddenly shucked off his gardening gloves and sat back on his heels. “Oh! Now you’ve done it.”

“Excuse me,” Eskel said, loud enough to make his husband start. Jaskier whirled around, and Eskel nearly collapsed off his horse. He’d forgotten that exact shade of blue, that full, bright gaze that seemed to wash over him like summer rain. The eyes glistened with barely there tears, and Scorpion shifted beneath him, sensing his rider’s anxiety. 

“I’m afraid you’ve taken a wrong turn if you’re headed to Ban Ard. Should have gone left at the fork,” Jaskier said like he did this a lot. Eskel wondered how many travelers happened upon his bard like this. Defenseless. Eskel frowned something fierce behind the visor. 

“I’m here to inquire after you,” Eskel replied. 

Jaskier snorted and stood, brushing off the dirt at his knees. 

“I’m afraid I am already married, good sir, though I’m sure you’ll make some other lad exceedingly happy,” Jaskier said, and Eskel stifled a laugh. “The only thing you could give me is news of my husband. Are you familiar with Eskel, Wolf of Kaer Morhen?”

It fluttered Eskel’s heart to hear Jaskier say his name again. He’d forgotten how pretty Jaskier could make anything sound. 

“I may have news of your husband,” Eskel hedged. “What would you offer me in return?”

Jaskier straightened, finally interested in the exchange. He stepped closer with wide, eager eyes. 

“I have amassed quite the fortune. I’m a very famous bard, you know, but I would give it all to you if you could tell me what’s become of my husband,” Jaskier offered. Eskel’s chest swelled with pride; he’d heard some of the new songs that the bards sang, and now looking back on them, he saw Jaskier’s influence. 

“I’m a soldier coming home with the spoils of war, and I’ve no need of your fortune,” Eskel said. “What else can you offer me?”

“I have ancient tomes of songs and poems that you cannot buy, given to me by my husband, but I would part with them if you could tell me what has happened to him.” Jaskier’s arms folded, the look he usually gave when readying for a good debate. Eskel delighted in seeing it; not everything had been changed by the clutch of time. 

“I’m a soldier and don’t have much time for reading, good sir,” Eskel replied. “What else could you give me?”

Jaskier’s brow furrowed, hands worrying at his sleeves like he did when deep in thought. Eskel was distracted, taken back to a time those hands worried over his body, stitching wounds and cleaning bandages. He would give anything to feel them again, and he was learning that Jaskier would do the same for him. 

“I have an elven lute. It is my prized possession. No other instrument could bring my music to fruition, but I would give it to you if you could give me news of my husband,” Jaskier finally said. 

The air left Eskel’s lungs. Jaskier had possessed that lute for longer than Eskel had known him. The bard had gone hungry to buy new strings and had taken teeth and claws to the chest rather than expose his instrument to a beast. Eskel slid off his horse and came round to the small gate at the head of the garden. Jaskier met him there, coming just barely out of arm’s reach. 

“I’m a soldier with too clumsy of fingers to play such an instrument,” Eskel said, and Jaskier looked away, the sheen over his eyes returning. 

“Then I’m afraid I’ve nothing to give you,” Jaskier said. Eskel leaned against the gate. 

“There is one thing you’ve yet to offer me which I might be inclined to take,” Eskel said. Jaskier tensed in waiting. “You’ve yet to offer yourself.”

All sorrow vanished from Jaskier’s face as a stormcloud formed like a crown over his mood. He marched forward and hit a fist to the side of Eskel’s helmet. It didn’t hurt, but it rang in his ears, making him shy away. 

“How dare you take advantage of a man in suffering!” Jaskier shoved at Eskel’s chest, and the Witcher let himself totter backwards. “Leave my sight, or so help me, I’ll call upon my sister-in-law who is a mage. She’ll turn you into a toad if I so request!”

Eskel finally allowed himself to laugh. It stalled Jaskier’s tirade. 

“Hold your call, for she is my sister as well.” Eskel reached up and removed his helmet, ruffling a hand through his perpetually unkempt hair. 

He suddenly had an armful of bard. Jaskier’s lips landed on his for a feverish kiss, hands roaming about his armor, tugging in places as if to see if it was all real. Jaskier didn’t bother to open the gate; he would not be parted from Eskel. He scrambled up the crossed beams at the back, nearly breaking the hinges with his weight, and he lunged into his husband’s arms. Eskel took him like he weighed nothing, twirling Jaskier in the air. When his feet again touched ground, Jaskier pressed a kiss to each part of Eskel’s face, regardless of the scars, or perhaps even paying special attention to them. 

“Eskel, oh my love,” he breathed between kisses. “Beautiful, strong Eskel. Darling, how I’ve missed you.”

“And I you,” Eskel rumbled. One hand left Jaskier to grope blindly for Scorpion’s reigns. “Go prepare what you like while I tend to my horse.”

Jaskier’s grip tightened around Eskel. “I would not let you from my sight for all the country’s jewels. I’ve imagined this many times, so I cannot be sure I am not dreaming. I would take all the time I have before I wake.”

“Come then,” Eskel said softly, tangling his fingers into Jaskier’s. He went round the side of the house where he knew he’d built the stables. It was all familiar as if through the veil of a dream. Jaskier reluctantly let go of his hand as he set about untacking Scorpion. 

“It is all as you left it,” Jaskier said. He dug the toe of his boot into the hay. 

Once Scorpion was squared away, Eskel found himself unable to resist the pull of Jaskier’s lips. He crowded his husband against the door of the stables and took another kiss—another dozen. It was his turn to explore Jaskier, to kiss the new laugh lines and crow's feet. To feel how his arms were hardened by his work in the garden, a thrill running through Eskel at the implication of Jaskier’s strength. He’d almost forgotten he hadn’t chosen a wilting flower as a mate. Jaskier could give as good as he got, evidenced by how he dragged himself up Eskel’s body, wrapping his legs around Eskel’s waist. 

“The house,” Jaskier panted as he arched his back. 

“Can wait,” Eskel growled, skimming his teeth down Jaskier’s neck. 

He bit down, and Jaskier cried, “ _ Eskel! _ ”

Eskel could feel how Jaskier’s thighs shook, not from exertion but from anticipation. His husband was right, as usual. They needed to be inside, in bed, because once Eskel started taking Jaskier apart, he wouldn’t stop for something as trivial as relocation. And Jaskier didn’t deserve their reunion to be played out on the stable’s floors. 

Eskel hoisted Jaskier up and pulled him away from the door. Jaskier held onto his neck in a practiced fashion, their bodies remembering how to move around each other. Eskel nearly tripped over a wheelbarrow, growling into Jaskier’s laughing mouth as he kicked it out of his way. He made it to the threshold, and Jaskier hopped off of him, taking his hand to lead him into their home. 

The furniture had changed. Eskel has suspected as much; Jaskier was always finding new pieces and changing the scenery. Not to mention they’d broken quite a few couches in some frantic lovemaking. But no, not all of it had changed. Eskel recalled the chair in the corner. It was where he used to sit to carve in the evenings while Jaskier composed in front of the fire. And that tapestry. It was from the halls of Kaer Morhen and told the story of the first Witchers. Eskel took it all in quickly as Jaskier pulled him through. He did at least remember the way to the bedroom. Somehow, this was not it. Jaskier herded him into the kitchen. 

I pot of stew bubbled on the stove, and Jaskier ladled a hefty portion into a bowl. Eskel groaned, smoothing his hands over Jaskier’s hips, but his husband wouldn’t budge. He set the stew on the table and crossed his arms. 

“Eat,” Jaskier commanded. Despite riding hard the past few weeks with little rest and less food, Eskel found all his needs secondary to the overwhelming desire to touch his husband again. 

“Only hungry for you,” Eskel muttered against the column of Jaskier’s throat. Still, the bard didn’t budge. He pushed Eskel into the dining chair. 

“Eat.” 

Eskel pouted and pulled Jaskier into his lap. This was just fine with the bard, and he laid his head against Eskel’s chest, listening for that slow heartbeat. Eskel dug into the bowl. 

“What of the others?” Jaskier asked. 

“Geralt is at the manor as we speak. I’m sure Yennefer did not torture him with a meal before welcoming him home properly—“ Jaskier smacked Eskel’s chest who squeezed his thigh in return. “Lambert has gone to find the Cat battalion, and I’m sure Aiden is likewise looking for him.”

“And Vesemir?” Jaskier worried for the oldest Witcher. He hadn’t been on the Path for a long time before the war.

“Vesemir has gone back to Kaer Morhen,” Eskel said. Jaskier stroked a hand over Eskel’s breastplate. 

“We should invite him to winter with us. Or, I suppose, we should invite him to Yennefer’s,” Jaskier said. “And I guess Lambert and his Cat can come. The manor has room.”

“It’ll be like old times,” Eskel chuckled, pressing a kiss into Jaskier’s hair. 

Eskel did feel invigorated after food, and his heart felt positively bursting. His bard was already taking care of him again. 

“May I take you to bed, my love?” Eskel asked, pressing a kiss behind Jaskier’s ear. 

“At this point, I would kill you myself if you didn’t.”

Eskel laughed, picking Jaskier up and swinging him over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Jaskier used the position to tear at Eskel’s armor, so many buckles and clasps. Jaskier was thrown onto the bed, and both men efficiently worked their clothes off. 

“Never again, Jaskier,” Eskel promised as he settled between his husband’s legs. Jaskier flashed him a grin and wiggled his hips enticingly. 

“I’m going to find some way to get you back for tricking me,” Jaskier said, and he sealed the threat with a kiss. 

“I look forward to it.” Eskel settled over his husband to explore properly. He was in no rush. He was home. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love to love Eskel, alright? If you want to read the original folk tale, check out this link: http://www.worldoftales.com/European_folktales/Romanic_folktale_18.html#gsc.tab=0


End file.
